


Disintegrated

by beneaththeskin



Series: Crimson Fog [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Kidnapping, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slurs, it's quite graphic so anyone who may find this triggering beware please
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 14:16:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10664361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beneaththeskin/pseuds/beneaththeskin
Summary: This was done as a prompt for angst+blindfolds with Jya and ShatteredEpiphany. [go read theirs rn D:]This work is purposefully highly disturbing, so anyone who may find non-con triggering, beware when reading or do just skip this fic.Sorry in advance that it's also highly cryptic.I wanted to explore a facet of what may happen to someone's mentality throughout something like this.





	Disintegrated

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShatteredEpiphany](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShatteredEpiphany/gifts), [Jya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jya/gifts).



> This was done as a prompt for angst+blindfolds with Jya and ShatteredEpiphany. [go read theirs rn D:]  
> This work is purposefully highly disturbing, so anyone who may find non-con triggering, beware when reading or do just skip this fic.  
> Sorry in advance that it's also highly cryptic.  
> I wanted to explore a facet of what may happen to someone's mentality throughout something like this.

As I slowly start to come to, I feel the telltale touch of fingertips graze over my waist, the familiar soft pressure of fabric against my eyelids. My head feels hazy with almost a sense of vertigo, but my instinct to confirm it and open my eyes is cut short, as I’m reminded that I’m blindfolded.

The sound of clicking footsteps can be heard echoing through the room, the location of it difficult to sense, the sharp click-click almost physically cutting into my inner ears, inevitably making me wince.

My body feels inexplicably heavy and I want to call out to Iwa to stop for a moment and that I’m not feeling too hot – though I may or may not actually be sweating – but I find myself unable to reach out for him.

As I flex my arms, I realize that my hands are tied above my head with rope.

Something doesn’t feel quite right.

Now that I feel the surface against my back, I’m certain this isn’t our most recent bed. It’s too solid and too cold, too heavy under my lying-down form.

What clicks the strongest now are my arms – I’ve never had Iwa tie them. He knows I don’t like just lying there and doing nothing, useless. And I like to feel around along the lines of his form.

Suddenly the footsteps are back, and a cold shiver runs down my spine through the haze in my mind.

“You awake there, pretty boy?”

The voice is awfully familiar yet awfully foreign to my ears. I can’t find my voice, or maybe I just can’t find the words.

Something grips my chin, the sharp and rigid movement tearing a gasp out through my nose.

“ _I_ _said_ ,” the voice grits with emphasis, “are you, _awake_.”

As I somehow don’t succumb, the what I now feel are fingers digging into my jaw leave my skin, only to be replaced by what feels like the underside of a dress shoe.

“You impudent little fuck.”

The voice fades into a sneer, taking the clicking sound with it.

The realization dawns now.

_Well fuck._

I can already feel the ache in my bones in the background, the probable chemical haze apparently not affecting my tactile memories.

My thoughts don’t move.

_Iwa._

I feel the presence hover back over me, sickly smooth fingers pulling the waistband of my pants halfway down my ass and I have half a mind not to shimmy against it. The fingers drag my shirt up my stomach.

_I’m sorry, Iwa._

_I really don’t want to betray you._

As my mind protests, my muscles on the contrary relax.

_Might as well have shot me up with something stronger._

No-no, this is nothing new. I’ve done this for years.

 _This is nothing_.

The presence seems to find something amusing.

“You think I’m gonna make you work?” it snorts. “After the shit you pulled?”

I’m flooded with images of blood and bruises on my body, much gentler hands tracing over them. Long road trips. Cheap motel rooms. Hiding.

Iwa’s careful hands on my sick fucking self. His reassurances that it’s nothing to be ashamed of, that I’m not dirty.

_How long are you going to be able to say that with such confidence?_

The hand is back on my waistband, shaking it roughly.

“No, you slut. I’m going to _brand_ you.”

_Oh._

The image is clear. The voice’s self-proclaimed brand mark. A visual sign of shame.

So would I rather take a dick or scorching metal?

As if I had a say in the matter.

“Who do you think built you up?”

The voice is breathy with frustration. Something clatters loudly.

“Everyone’s gonna know whose bitch you are.”

The hand tears my pants further down, likely exposing me just for the emphasis. Or maybe not. You never know.

Suddenly my head is full of Iwa’s face, his stunning smile that slips through his rough façade when we’re alone. His gravelly voice that speaks bluntly but never harsh.

I almost smile through what’s coming next, the heat radiating through the air between it and my skin.

The voice is infinitely thick with irony.

“Scream for me, love.”

The searing, blinding pain, however, doesn’t make me scream. My heartbeat is stuck in my throat along with my breath, shivers running through my whole body, the heat reverberating outwards toward my limbs. I feel like I can’t get any air, my lungs expanding and expanding.

And I can just think of one thing only.

_This is infinitely better than breaking his trust._

I almost want to laugh.

_Is this it?_

I feel like the voice is still saying something, but I can no longer make out the words, the sounds blending into each other and into my headache, which I still weirdly feel next to the heat in my abdomen.

It dulls, heat and pressure melding together, air attempting to stutter out my lungs in vain.

I feel the muscles in my thighs contract stronger than those in the rest of my body, belatedly realizing I’ve been digging my nails into my palms above my head.

The laughing voice cuts into my mind, shrill and deprecating.

“You sick fuck!”

I realize that a little more blood than is imminently necessary has run between my thighs, reacting in a way that most would consider embarrassing.

If you count the number of people that have fucked me, you’ll reconsider.

In the back of my mind I think pain equals pleasure, but in a corner further back I realize that’s likely just years of self-conditioning.

The heat drips over what must be a blotch of now-dead tissue in my abdomen, making the surrounding skin weirdly warm and sensitive, pulling my surrounding muscles tight.

Clearly not satisfied with my response, the hand roughly grips my hip, pulling on it, my skin screaming in pain. No sound comes out of my mouth other than ragged gasps.

“You’re not fucking _free_ , you better remember that well.”

I’m turned around the face the ground, if I could see it, and I want to support my body on my elbows so as not to have the injury graze against the surface, but I can’t move.

_He’s going to kill me once he’s done pouring out his anger on me._

The realization hits clear.

_He might not do it himself. He might leave me with the regulars that will now not have to worry about leaving me presentable for future customers._

I’m tired. I don’t want to think anymore.

The hands are back, pulling my pants all the way down my legs.

“You better not forget this feeling.”

The voice sounds like gritted through teeth.

“It’s all someone like you is good for.”

Something else clatters, like a box against wood, if my mind is registering it right through the pounding in my skull.

I wish I could pass out.

I can’t move with the weight now holding down my legs, and something cold touches the underside of my ass. What I familiarly realize must be metal rips right through my flesh, making my insides clench in effort to hold it back, though halfway trying to just relax through it to minimize the strain.

My muscles are tense all over with the effort to relax, feeling lightheaded with the extended lack of any proper breaths. I push my cheek into my bicep, clenching my teeth.

It feels almost funny to me, with various parts of my body screaming for, well, something.

Through the haze, an immense longing for Iwa’s gentle hand against my cheek strikes as the only thing I’ll really miss.

The pain in my body is almost numb in its intensity.

_Does this count as betraying you?_

Through some delirious enigma I find my grating voice from inside some disintegrating place.

_I don’t care anymore._

“’s that all you got?”

A shrill laugh cuts through my skull with an impact hitting my ribs. Through the almost cotton in my head I hear the clicking of the shoes then step away from me, a door some distance away clicking open and slamming shut.

I imagine Iwa’s soothing hands on me as my mind tries to shut off all the pain it’s feeling in the darkness.

 

After what feels like an eternity, the door clicks again.

My muscles weary from the shivering, I brace myself for what worse could happen. I clench my teeth and try to get some oxygen in my lungs as the steps approach. Something briefly grazes my shoulder, somehow this time making me flinch slightly.

“Tooru,” a voice I would never mistake for another’s tries quietly, followed by an intake of breath.

_Am I finally really delirious from the pain?_

I just try to breathe as imaginary Iwa’s hand holds onto my wrist, untying the rope. The fingers catch my hair next, removing the fabric from around my eyes.

I wait for a long moment to open them, and try to turn on my side to face him, pushing my palm against the floor next to my head. The metal grinds my insides disgustingly as I inevitably tighten the muscles in my abdomen. His hand holds onto my shoulder, and something drops inside my chest when my eyes land on his face.

_You’re really here._

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his other hand hovering beside my head. “I promised I would protect you.”

I want to lean into his palm but reconsider, the muscles in my face lax. I push up on my hands instead, gravity trying to hinder me, though I feel Iwa’s strong arm under my shoulders. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, trying to clear them of the haze, and reach my arm behind my naked back.

I end up still leaning against his chest, my hand shakily pulling on the metal rod lodged inside my flesh.

He tries to shh me, hand supporting my hip, thumb rubbing firm patterns into my skin. I can feel the slight shivering in him through my skin.

I have to pull with quite some strength to get the rod moving, the metal pulling through my tightened muscles. It feels like I’m burning inside. I let the end of it just slide down with its own weight, my muscles twitching in discomfort, the rod clacking against the floor and rolling out of my hand.

There’s dark blood all over the metal and on my hand, undoubtedly between my thighs too.

My hands shake.

I feel Iwa tighten his hold on me, and hear an intake of breath as if he has something to say, but something churns uncomfortably inside my head.

I push at his chest and slowly rise to my feet, barely breathing through my open mouth but oddly steady, considering. I turn, looking for where I think the door is supposed to be, pulling at the hem of my jeans to be able to walk properly, starting towards it. I can’t quite pull them fully up, however, cringing and curling in on myself halfway.

I feel Iwa’s hands on my arms, trying to still them, his chest settling against my back.

“Did you-,” I have to breathe in between, “did you find a new motel?”

I feel him tighten his hold, turning up my right wrist.

I inspect the clotted blood sticking in between my fingers.

“You-, uh,” he trails off, and I feel him gulp against the slope of my shoulder. “We need to get you to a hospital.”

_Why is your voice so leveled?_

I can feel my brows pull tight in mild confusion, worsening my headache.

“It’s not that bad,” I breathe out, “I’ve had worse. It’ll heal.”

_Nothing my ass hasn’t seen before._

I want to continue towards the door, but my attempt is utterly futile against the hold of his arms.

_We should go._

“Wait,” he urges quietly, “look.”

He supports under my ribs with his arm, holding up the hem of my shirt with the other.

I look down at my abdomen in disbelief for a moment.

It’s black.

It looks charred, and I realize what the tight pulling sensation all this time was. I feel like a chunk of me is missing, like it’s not really there.

He lets the fabric drop by down, and gathers my arm over his shoulders, seemingly attempting to gather my focus to his face.

“Tooru. You need medical attention,” he speaks clearly, a tad bit like I needed to be spoken slowly to.

Now that he mentions, I can feel my strength quickly evaporating.

_Okay maybe this won’t quite heal on its own._

I huff out a breath, feeling vertigo all over again, though not quite feeling my abdomen and my hands. It takes a moment for me to come to another realization. I take as deep of a breath as I can, pushing at him with my free hand.

“You can just leave me here.” My voice feels oddly not like mine.

_I’m way too much trouble at this point._

I feel him twitch under my arm.

I feel him gulp again, heavier. “I’m not leaving you.”

If I wasn’t mostly limp, I’d want to laugh out. “You know why you should.”

He knows what I am.

There’s no changing it. No washing it off. _You’re already dirty with my filth. Better wash it off quick, while you still can. While it still washes off._

“It’s exactly why I won’t.”

When I look, I see the muscles in his jaw clench, not quite sure how to interpret it. I’d protest, if I wasn’t so tired. I suddenly feel really heavy, gravity making it hard for me to stay upright.

I open my mouth to tell him he’s an idiot, but I’m not sure if the words ever come out.

My ears are ringing, and my eyes struggle to focus.

I hold onto his arm, clenching my fingers in the fabric of his shirt.

 

The next thing I know, I feel like I’m lying down. My eyelids weigh heavy, and my limbs feel really relaxed.

My hand feels warm in a hold and I want to squeeze back, so I do. The hold tightens, and something rustles beside me. I notice everything around me feels really soft.

“Tooru,” the voice is gravelly yet soft-sounding, “are you awake?”

I feel like falling back asleep, but I want to hear more of that voice. I force out a hum that breaks sooner that I intended.

A heavy sigh follows, and I feel warm skin on my forearm. Opening my eyes blearily, I see Iwa’s forehead leant on it. Apparently he’s sitting beside the bed.

“I’m not dying,” I gulp, my throat feeling infinitely dry.

I feel a breath of almost laughter on my skin. I notice a glass on the cupboard next to me, but my hand is currently adorably stuck.

“Can you,” I try move my fingers a bit to get his attention, “pass me that water, please?”

“Yeah,” he abruptly rises from his position, “of course.” He holds the glass for me, setting the straw between my lips.

I take a few large sips, vaguely trying to clear my throat. I note the IV attached to my other arm.

“Am I on like morphine or something? I feel really floaty.”

I see Iwa’s gaze follow mine to the bag dripping liquid into my veins. He looks into my eyes, searching.

“To be honest, I’m not quite sure,” he starts, looking somehow dejected. “You were in surgery. You’ve been asleep for over a day.”

I think he can see the confusion in my expression, as he continues without me asking.

“The burn went past muscle tissue, it needed surgical intervention,” he looks down at my lap. “They removed a piece of tissue from your thigh for skin grafting.”

Everything feels like a vague dream for me. I look down at the blanket. I feel nothing but a dull ache, not quite sure where. I feel like the orangey streetlights are too bright, my vision swimming in and out of focus. My head almost lays itself back down on the pillow below it on its own.

“You should sleep more.”

I feel his hand on the slope of my neck, firmly squeezing, warm, making my eyes blink back to mostly open. I look up at his face. He looks distressed, eyes toggling between mine, the corners of his lips tugging up into a sad-looking smile.

I want to comfort him.

“Hey,” I softly tug at his black work shirt under his bicep to get him to lean down.

He falls onto his forearms on either side of my head with a surprised hum, letting me kiss over his collarbone and up the side of his neck. I feel him suck in a breath, the steady thrum of his heartbeat under my lips. I snake my arm under his and over his shoulder, holding onto it, taking a patch of skin on his neck between my teeth to gently suck it into my mouth. I want to caress my other arm down his side, but the wire of the IV doesn’t let me.

“Wait,” he breathes, pushing down on my shoulders and leaning up slightly.

I look away when our eyes lock, pulling at his arm to lean towards it. “You’re stressed,” I softly kiss at his palm, sliding my arm down his waist towards the hem of his jeans. “Let me comfort you.” I lick a deliberate stripe over his palm for clarification.

“Wait, wait,” he whispers, grabbing my wrist. He leans farther up, carding fingers through my hair, searching my eyes for something I’m not sure I want to be found. “We shouldn’t, you’re injured,” he adds quietly. I can see his chest expand with a sigh. “You don’t have to.”

I suddenly feel raw, vulnerable, and I end up closing my eyes tight and turning my head to the side, muscles in my jaw clenching. I gulp with difficulty, trying to cancel it out.

_Don’t think, don’t think._

I try to concentrate on the fingers still in my hair, his thumb rubbing down my temple. A fraction of something relaxes. I find my breathing oddly leveled.

A pair of fingers leave the side of my head, and I feel him lean his head down into the slope of my neck. The words are muffled in fabric. “Sorry,” he nuzzles into my hair slightly. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.“

I continue just breathing for the moment, reaching my arm over his waist to pull him closer. I can feel him reluctantly put some of his weight on me, keeping clear of my stomach. The warmth against my cheek is comforting.

A soft feeling bubbles up inside my chest at the confirmation that he remembers what I’ve explained to him of it – that eye contact can disconcert me sometimes, but that physical reassurance seems to help it somewhat. The last part I didn’t even know until I met him again after my years in the rabbit hole. I thought he’d forgotten about me.

Although the me from back then no longer exists.

A sore part of me feels that now that I met Iwa again, these years almost don’t matter. I’d do it again, if I needed to to be here now.

Then again if you offered me to die right this minute.

Well.

“It’s fine,” I push my lips into his hair, breathing in his scent. It feels almost mixed with dust, but it’s there.

I fall asleep peacefully, to the feeling of familiar strong arms enveloping me.

 

My days in the hospital are slow and oddly calm, Iwa staying with me throughout the days. I have no idea how he talked the hospital staff into letting him stay past visitation hours. I hear him speak to his team about something like a renewal of my witness protection program. We share some of the hospital food, as I’m barely hungry anyway, and someone from his team brings over supplies a few times.

Most of the time we just lie down together, Iwa playing with my hair or caressing down my neck, or me drawing words on his arm that he has to guess, or kissing at his palm or his knuckles. Or him hovering by me while I’m on my way to the bathroom, no matter how many times I assure him that I haven’t lost my ability to walk.

These days feel strangely fragile.

When I’m released from the hospital, we take what he calls a tactical reroute north to change vehicles, to eventually make our way southwest to a government-funded safehouse.

How he even found me and what he did to them, I still don’t know. His team may be dealing with them, or they may be _dead_. I didn’t want to know, so I didn’t ask.

We make our way up the building, Iwa carrying our things and trying to support me while I try to scale the steps. I push my hand on my sweatpants right under the large dressing there, stepping slowly, as curling my knees pulls at the injury at an awkward angle.

“Do you want to wait here?” Iwa ask with a worried expression. “I can take the things upstairs and come back for you.”

“Nah,” I huff. I don’t feel like it’s actually agitating the injury, it just makes me defensive of it.

As we make it to the third floor of the concrete building, Iwa makes to open the heavy metal door. The view inside is surprisingly light, compared to what I was expecting of a safehouse. There isn’t much furniture here, and it’s an open one-room apartment, but really anywhere is fine as long as I’m allowed to be there with him.

Iwa secures all the locks on the front door, moving to put our things away. I go to carefully sit myself down on the couch and lie back, tracing my fingers over the hem of my loose sweatpants. After a while, Iwa comes to sit down next to me, and I turn to lie on my back with my head in his lap, with a lot of help from my arms so that I use my abs very minimally. I fold my knees and rest them against the back of the couch.

He rests his arm over my collarbone, running his fingers through my hair, away from my forehead. I feel comfortably sleepy under his touch, closing my eyes for a minute. I feel his other hand move towards the side of my head, trailing his fingernails behind my ear. I open my eyes to look up at him, finding fond-looking eyes in return, my heartbeat picking up slightly.

I reach an arm up for his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, rubbing patterns into his skin over the fabric. I turn my cheek towards his stomach, breathing in deeply. It still sort of feels unreal that we’re here, like this.

I’ve never been treated this gently, this sincerely. It feels foreign.

The words leave my mouth before I can think to stop them.

“Can I ask you something very honestly?” I press a half-kiss on the fabric over his stomach.

The fingers in my hair stop for a moment, both returning to brush the strands off my face, settling his palms flat beside my forehead. “What is it?” the voice is softly grating.

I take a deep breath, deciding to look at him straight on this time, in hope of reading his reply more than hearing it. I try to keep my voice unanimated. “You don’t really find me attractive, do you?” I half-regret the words right as they come out. “I mean, you don’t really want to have sex with me.” _Or maybe deep down you do detest what I’ve done._

I see his expression drop, and he opens his mouth only to close it, pressing his lips tight. “To be honest, I don’t really know how to answer.” He bites at his lower lip. “I feel like I shouldn’t really compliment your looks here, because I’m not with you for sex.”

I don’t really know how to register that, so I just hum in thought.

“I mean, I really don’t want to pressure you, like,” he trails off with a shaky sigh, “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t like, or aren’t comfortable with.”

“But I like sex,” I reply automatically.

“What I mean is, I want you to know that you don’t _have_ to like it. It’s not a requirement.” His thumb rubs gentle circles into my temple, our eyes inexplicably locked, perhaps due to my incomprehension. “Like, the fact that I care for you immensely isn’t affected by whether, or what, we do, in that sense.”

My gulp reflex is uncomfortable in my throat, forcing me to turn towards my side with the help of both my hands and Iwa’s arm. I hug his thigh, facing away, pressing my cheek into it. “So, you don’t, like-,” I half-choke on my words, “you don’t think I’m-”

“I don’t think anything negative of you,” he squeezes my shoulder.

I find that incredibly hard to believe.

“I think we should only do it if you really want to,” he presses firm patterns into my shoulder. “And if you don’t, and we never do, then that’s fine too.”

I almost want to laugh, gulping again instead.

“And if, if any of this is uncomfortable,” he gestures to the hand he has on my shoulder, “please tell me, okay?”

I breathe out slowly, deliberately. “Okay.”

I myself doubt I would.

But I can try.

I’m reminded of the last time we had sex, which feels like a lifetime ago somehow. The blindfold habitually on my eyes to cut off the surroundings, which helps ease my racing mind somewhat. Helps make it less likely that I’d dissociate, with nowhere for my eyes to stop and fade out. Where he is only clear from our points of contact, the slight sound of rustling fabric, the feel of his breath on my skin.

His body along mine, the heat of his mouth, his skin under my hands.

Just our heartbeats.

Yet I’ve never had penetrative sex with someone I like. I have no idea how that would feel.

I mean, I can’t even properly look him in the eyes sometimes.

What if, if we did that, I’d feel differently about him somehow.

Even though I was ready to do it all this while, he just never went with it, keeping to other types of sex.

I keep thinking that it doesn’t even matter how I feel about this.

If he’s happy, I’m happy that he is. Yet he keeps making me feel like I matter. I want to believe him.

I huff out a sincere laugh. “I think we’ll be alright.”

Iwa leans down to kiss my temple, hugging me with one arm, stroking my hair with the other.

Here in the arms of the person dearest to me, injured yet alive, covered by the evening sunlight pouring in from the window of our safehouse.

I have never felt safer.


End file.
